Mona Lisas (And Mad Hatters)

And now I know

Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say

I thought I knew

But now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City

Until you've seen this trash can dream come true

You stand at the edge while people run you through

And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you

I thank the Lord there's people out there like you

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers

Turn around and say good morning to the night

For unless they see the sky

But they can't and that is why

They know not if it's dark outside or light

This Broadway's got

It's got a lot of songs to sing

If I knew the tunes I might join in

I'll go my way alone

Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown in New York City

Subway's no way for a good man to go down

Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown

And I thank the Lord for the people I have found

I thank the Lord for the people I have found